6: Olenna I

The bells of the castle sept rang, leading the charge for the septs of the town below. With the clear signal, another dawn had come and passed. Most of the town was long awake at that point. The Smallfolk rose with the sun. And the more intelligent and dutiful among the Highborn did the same.

The castle sat on a hill above the town and the blessed river that ran beside them both. It was a beautiful thing — a rose in an already beautiful bouquet. Defensible, as well, with three great walls of gleaming white stone surrounding the keeps and towers at the top of the hill. A garden on high — the home of chivalry, of love, and of beauty.

Castle Highgarden awoke, suddenly buzzing with activity in the light of day. Like a field of flowers, little worker bees hurried to and fro with their tasks. Another tourney was on the morrow — a constant affair in the Reach — so there was even more to be done than usual. Servants and maids hustled about, dithering at times throughout the halls of the castle to share gossip and conversation. Men-at-arms trained and toiled in Highgarden's many yards. And alongside it all, the Highborn had their ever-important duties.

Olenna Tyrell, Lady Mother of the Lord of Highgarden, sat within her solar, doing just those duties. Despite her old age — firmly in her sixth decade of life — her mind was sharper than ever. Only a fool didn't know the true power in the Reach. And Olenna's son Mace was the chief fool among them.

Olenna loved him as a mother must. But she knew better than anyone the arrogant, blustering buffoon she'd birthed. She thanked everything holy — Old gods and new — that she was still there in the world to guide him and take him to hand. Olenna was the prime reason House Tyrell maintained its position — Great House and Lord Paramount, Warden of the South — when so many others within the Reach coveted its seat.

The Reach was the largest of the Seven Kingdoms — other than the frozen North, a land Olenna discarded from consideration outright — and the richest on the whole. The Lannisters hoarded the golden wealth of the Westerlands to themselves but one could hardly eat gold. The Reach was the breadbasket of the realm. All relied on the fruits of its fields.

Even after Olenna's fool-son backed the losing side of King Robert's rebellion, the Reach could not be diminished or punished too harshly. The realm could never afford it. King's Landing especially was almost entirely reliant on foodstuffs from the Reach. Their Kingdom was the jewel of the South, shining with the knowledge and faith of Oldtown and the chivalry and prestige of Highgarden…

Yet that shine hid a cutthroat Kingdom of ambitious Houses and noble politics. To some within the Reach, House Tyrell was seen as up-jumped stewards, grasping at a seat they were unworthy of. Unlike the other Great Houses, the Tyrells were only elevated with the Conquest and Unification of the Targaryens. They'd held their position ever since, yet that was only a scant 300 years compared to the many millennia of Westerosi history. Houses like Florent, Rowan, and Oakheart remembered the reign of the Gardeners over the Reach, claimed blood ties made them worthy, and coveted House Tyrell's position as Warden of the South.

If left to himself, Mace likely would've fallen to the ambitions and aspirations of their enemies within. No, that was uncharitable, Olenna thought. Even Mace was not that much of a fool. Though it was a much closer thing than she would have liked…

Olenna's son certainly was a man of many things. Not complex things but things nonetheless. Mace was arrogant. He imagined himself as some great warrior and strategist… He was not. He was loud. He was full of bluster and pomp. He had his own ambitions and rather foolish ideas of how to go about them. He was the very example of everything their rivals claimed House Tyrell to be.

Thankfully, the rest of the family made up for their Lord's many faults. Olenna would have been quite cross if Mace had successfully passed his foolishness along to her grandchildren. His wife was very good to him in that regard. Olenna found her gooddaughter to be… acceptable.

Lady Alerie Tyrell was a Hightower by birth. She was tall, slender, and beautiful, even well into motherhood. Olenna knew she had a good mind behind those pretty eyes and beneath that silvery hair if one that was slightly vapid. But Alerie was much too quiet for Olenna's taste. Too demure. Too content to let Mace make a fool of himself as he was wont to do. Again, Alerie was… acceptable.

She'd birthed four children for House Tyrell — three boys and then finally ('FINALLY!' Olenna had declared) a girl. The oldest, Willas, was just about perfect, in Olenna's eyes. Charismatic, intelligent, kind but not too kind, and well-groomed as an heir to eventually take his father's place. But Mace — prideful, moronic, 'warrior' that he was — had pushed the boy too far, too young. Willas had been entered into a fateful tourney at only ten-and-four and been crippled as a result.

'He was lamed like a damned horse BY his horse falling atop him,' Olenna spat within her mind. 'All for Mace's impatient desire for a warrior's legacy.'

Willas would never walk without assistance again, Olenna knew. It was a miracle he could walk at all, even with a cane and brace. He couldn't grip a horse to ride and he would likely never lead men into battle as a Lord was expected to. A bitter blemish on an otherwise perfect heir.

Mace's secondborn, Garlan, was unfortunately exactly what Mace wanted but didn't deserve. Garlan was a skilled fighter and a good knight. Willas had even named him 'Ser Garlan the Gallant' — a masterstroke by the clever heir that Olenna was exceedingly proud of.

The youngest Tyrell boy, Loras, took after Garlan. A skilled fighter and likely to be knighted as well before too long. The boy also had a certain proclivity toward 'sword-swallowing' as it were but that was largely irrelevant in Olenna's mind. Such things were fine for a third son. Though she did find it amusing that Alerie had squired the boy to young Renly Baratheon of all Lords when she'd caught him with one of the castle's strapping stableboys. As if that would at all curb Loras' proclivities. Ha!

Then there was sweet, darling Margaery, the Little Rose of House Tyrell. If Mace saw Garlan as his legacy — after failing with good Willas, Olenna bitterly reminded herself — Margaery was Olenna's. She was even more beautiful than Olenna had been in youth, with a mind just as sharp, and most importantly the ability for subtlety. A blessing considering who her father was…

So while Olenna was so very proud of her Little Rose, the same could not be said for the direct spawn of her loins. Mace played his little 'warrior' games, hosted his tourneys, drank, feasted, and generally grew his gut more than their House's power. At the very least, her son was personable enough — almost infuriatingly so when Olenna thought about what could have been.

Meanwhile, Olenna busied herself in her old age, defending House Tyrell from its enemies and rivals within and without. She'd been nothing but successful so far and Olenna intended to keep it that way. For in the unending Game of Thrones, few dared cross the Queen of Thorns.

'Queen of Thorns,' Olenna scoffed internally, of two minds about her title as ever when it crossed her thoughts. One mind smugly thought it was rightfully deserved. She'd worked hard to earn and keep her reputation, striking victory after victory as a Lady and mother in a man's power game. The other mind thought it a proper shame. Why, it gave away the game, didn't it? A rose's thorns shouldn't be seen. Only felt…

Still, her title and reputation had hardly served her poorly. Caution could be a blade all the same as arrogance, to be turned against men who thought themselves wiser and quicker than her. Or women thinking themselves bolder, a Lioness Queen who mistook cruelty for intelligence most prominent among them.

Olenna shook thoughts of that particular chit from her mind. At the very least, she had an amusingly sharp tongue but the Old Lion's ruthless intelligence had not bred true with the Lannister Queen. Of course, if Olenna had to put up with their Stag of a King's antics, she might lash out similarly. Though Olenna had a hunch that the girl's cruelty — a woman grown and mother in her own right but all women were mere maidens to Olenna Tyrell — ran deeper than that.

Now, the Old Lion — the legendary Lord Tywin Lannister — was an entirely different beast from his royally elevated daughter. There, was a man. A monster and Olenna's most powerful rival in the Game of Thrones, even more so than the Hand of the King Jon Arryn. But certainly a man worthy of recognition. Were all Lords to be of the Old Lion's caliber, the world would be a much more interesting place, Olenna thought.

The Lannisters were on the up. They had been for more than a decade. They were the most powerful Great House in the realm to Olenna's sharp political mind. More so than House Baratheon, whose eldest scion ruled as King from the Iron Throne. Olenna's little flowers in King's Landing and beyond even said that the Lannisters held half of the Throne's significant debt…

'Of course, even the Smallfolk can see that much,' Olenna mused to herself, dismissing her conclusions as matters of fact — the kinds that hardly needed to be spoken at her level of the Game.

The Lannisters were firmly at the top. Yet the winds of power could be set to change at any moment. Nothing was forever in the Game of Thrones. There was always another move to be made if one was bold or sharp or ruthless or even patient enough…

'Let the Lannisters have their mountains of gold. House Tyrell's coffers are never too far behind. Because,' Olenna knew. 'The Reach is where power truly grows.'

In the Game of Thrones, most things could be if not predicted then presented enough warning that something could be done in response. An endless exchange of thrust and counterthrust — arrangements being made and strings being pulled by the largest players' numerous agents or even their enemies at times. Every player worth their salt had agents that reported back to them.

The Master of Whispers and his little birds were most prominent among them. The Master of Coin and his whores and merchants. The Lioness Queen and her court of Ladies. The Old Lion was especially dangerous there as his gold could buy any story being whispered. Why, she was even decently sure that the Quiet Wolf of the North had his sources, limited and unsubtle as they were. Olenna, of course, had her little flowers to be 'smelled'.

Yet still, the letter she received that morning was beyond anything Olenna could have expected. Something had been missed or never reached her flowers' petals in the first place. A new player had entered the Game, the board had been flipped, and the players would soon be left scrambling every which way to find new footholds. Olenna's only consolation was that her rivals would be equally as taken aback as her.

"A letter has come for Highgarden, my Lady," Maester Lomys reported dutifully, having knocked at Olenna's solar and been bidden entrance. "And in the strangest of ways…"

"Well? Out with it, boy!" Olenna raised a stiff, old brow, prompting him to continue.

"Only you, my Lady," Maester Lomys — an elderly man of nearly five decades himself — chuckled goodnaturedly. "Instead of by raven, this letter arrived by… owl. I, I've never seen anything like it. The bird was as smart as any raven and perhaps even more well-trained. It did not fuss, only requesting jerky and water before taking wing once more. I would have liked it to stay so I could study it, but alas…"

"Ha! By owl, you say? How rich!" Olenna croaked. "Give it here, give it here. Let's see who it's from."

"I recognize one of the seals but not the other," Maester Lomys mused. "Perhaps the North has taken to capturing and training owls in place of ravens?"

Olenna grunted but didn't say anything more, instead examining the seals upon the letter. Sure enough, there was the running Direwolf of House Stark. Curious. The seal beside it was even more curious. Olenna didn't recognize it and she knew all the House banners in Westeros, even in the frozen North. A shield, split into four — bearing a lion, a serpent, a badger, and a raven.

"Hmph, let's see what the Northerners want," Olenna huffed. "You are dismissed, Maester Lomys. Get, boy."

Carefully breaking the seals as the Maester did just that, Olenna read, "'To whom it may concern'… Heh, oh, that's good. I'll have to remember it. Both dismissive and respectful… Says potentially worrying things about the writer of this letter though."

As Olenna continued to read, her brow grew higher. And higher. And higher still. It was absurd. Impossible, even. Yet, there was certainly proof. Lord Stark — the ever-honorable Quiet Wolf — attached his words to the letter, confirming its contents and the situation it described within. Olenna couldn't help but laugh. No one would've expected that the North and its Quiet Lord would make what would undoubtedly become the most influential play since Aegon's Conquest of Westeros.

Even if Olenna didn't take Lord Stark at his word — she did, the man couldn't lie to save his life — there was more proof attached to the letter. As she'd opened it, a full-size book tumbled out, falling onto her desk with nary a thump. A proper tome, it had to be a thousand pages, yet as Olenna lifted it, she did so as easily as one would lift a feather. Not to mention that such a thing had no business fitting inside a single piece of parchment…

As she finished the absurd, impossible, game-changing letter — an announcement, really, and a certain offer that lit a fire in Olenna's heart — Olenna turned her attention to the tome. 'Hogwarts: A History'. Upon opening it, she was greeted by a moving painting, more undeniable proof of the magic claimed by the letter. Olenna's eyebrows just about cracked her skull.

She read on from the moving painting. There at the beginning of the tome, she found exactly what the cover said. A history of this 'Hogwarts' — the newest player in the Game of Thrones, Olenna knew. The founding of a school for magic by four men and women with the power of gods. An added postscript detailed the ridiculous yet undeniable situation Hogwarts currently found itself in, cast out from their homelands by spell and ritual, and practically dropped right into the lucky Northerners' laps.

It was a comprehensive retelling of the tale but Olenna didn't read far. She stopped when she reached the index of the current Houses of Hogwarts. Someone had been nice enough to put it foremost within the tome. As she read down the list, she couldn't help but cackle.

'At least that's proper enough!' Olenna mused. 'Of course, with magic, Highborn lineages would be born. Quite a few of them, it seems. But given a whole Kingdom to call their own before this, that much should be expected. Still, a whole new set of pieces just graced the board…'

And wholly new players at the top of them all. This 'Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore' seemed a man of wickedly good humor, storied wisdom, and a dangerously sharp mind from his letter. Olenna got the feeling he was just as experienced with playing the game as herself or the Old Lion. A move as bold as this letter and announcement didn't come from some spring chicken. A 'refuge in audacity', indeed. Olenna would have to keep that poignant phrase in mind, along with this masterful example of such.

Why, she could only imagine the reactions of the other Great Houses of Westeros… 'The Lioness Queen will scoff and dismiss it, the stupid arrogant chit that she is. The Old Lion will look to verify it — even with the proof provided — and gather information for the moment. Knowing nothing, even his ruthless boldness will be quelled for a time…'

'The Dornish will bide their time, Doran too 'patient' by far as ever. The Citadel will finally have a worthy rival and counterweight on the scales. The Faith will undoubtedly panic and lash out, something to keep in close consideration. The Trouts of the Riverlands could take the same route or try to ingratiate themselves through the Starks.'

'The Starks seem to have a developed good rapport already if Lord Eddard's words attached to the letter say anything at all. Such a direct approach has a quality of its own. The Quiet Wolf has led quite the unexpected coup. Then again, people so often dismiss the Starks, forgetting that they aren't merely wolves but Direwolves…'

'The Stag-King will consult with his old friend. He'll likely support him, especially if this new player can offer something to satisfy 'kingly indulgences'. The Hand of the King will do what he feels right for the realm. He's a sensible man. Perhaps too sensible for this impossible situation… The Vale will follow his lead, but not in union. The Spider will weave his web but as with the Citadel, I doubt he'll get much. I somehow doubt Littlefinger will find much purchase either. He'll have no leverage over a completely foreign player and his power relies all too heavily on such.'

'That leaves us… The others will expect us to follow the Faith, for is the Reach not its strongest supporter? Yet this offer at the end catches my eye again and again. Practically irresistible to House Tyrell, it would be a boon unmatched… And perhaps an extended and open hand as well.'

Olenna shook her head, 'Regardless of my decision — and it will be mine — the rest of the family must be informed.'

Ringing the bell at her desk, Olenna called for a servant girl and sent her to fetch her family to break their fast with her. The discussion to be had was one better kept from the dining tables of the hall. In her mind, the final decision was practically made already. Boldness should be matched with boldness. The 'refuge in audacity' could only be answered by more audacity, lest House Tyrell be sent reeling like the rest of the realm.

Alerie was the first to arrive, nodding gracefully but otherwise keeping Olenna's peace. Good. There was still much to consider. And her gooddaughter knew Mace would soon break the peace enough for all of them. Willas came next, and here, Olenna did speak.

"A letter came this morning, Willas, by owl of all things."

The Tyrell Heir perked up at that, blinking in surprise, "Truly? An owl? How curious…"

Olenna nodded, her words gaining the reaction she'd expected. Willas did so love his animals. A unique messenger bird was sure to catch his interest.

"As smart as a raven and even more trained, Maester Lomys said," Olenna confirmed.

Garlan and Margaery entered Olenna's solar soon after. Loras was away, squiring under — and likely 'under', Olenna cackled internally — Lord Renly. The four present Tyrells settled in to wait for the Lord of the House. Not one of them was surprised when he stumbled in, nursing a hangover from last night's feast.

"Mother, dim your lights please," Mace whimpered, covering his eyes with his fat hand. "Wherever you found the candle, it is vexing me something fierce!"

"The sun, you mean? Yes, I'll get right on that futile task," Olenna cut dryly. "Sit down, you oaf. Food and small beer are on the way."

Mace sighed in relief as he slumped into the chair before Olenna's desk without looking. He'd certainly been there enough times to do so blindly… "My humblest thanks, Mother. Truly, I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Die in an utterly embarrassing fashion, most likely," Olenna scoffed, muttering. "Humble, my wrinkled old ass…"

Mace didn't seem to hear her mutters at all but sweet Margaery giggled behind a hand. Olenna shot the gorgeous girl a toothy smirk at her son's expense. Willas was still lost in thought over his animals and Garlan accepted a cloth to wipe his face from the servant who fetched him. The diligent boy had undoubtedly been training in the yard. Truly, it was a miracle her grandchildren had turned out as well as they did, Olenna thought.

"May I ask what this is about, Grandmother?" Garlan inquired.

"It'll wait until after we eat," Olenna answered. "While pressing, I'd rather Mace be 'among the living' for this talk."

Her answer was accepted and fare was served to break the night's fast. Mace tucked in with the gusto of hungover men everywhere. He retained his noble manners, thankfully. Olenna would have taken to him with a switch from the gardens if he hadn't, Lord or not. Olenna and the others ate as well. Though Olenna had already broken her fast, she would never pass up the chance for a meal with her beloved family. Yes, even Mace. Idiocy didn't preclude a mother from loving her son.

Soon enough, Mace had his wits about him. Well… more of them, as much as could ever be said of the man. Olenna had the plates and dishes taken as Mace straightened himself in his seat.

"Now, what business do we have to address so early, Mother?" Mace asked.

The rest of the family watched intently, curious themselves, as Olenna handed him the closed letter — seals intact if broken — and said, "This letter came to Highgarden this morning, along with this book. A rather interesting development up north, one I think you should all discover for yourselves. I believe the letter and its contents to be genuine. I wouldn't have sent for you all otherwise. Read it aloud for us, Mace."

Before Mace could begin, Willas spoke with a furrowed, bewildered brow, "The book came with the letter? By bird? Owl, not raven, but still… That makes no sense, Grandmother."

"Not much of the letter does," Olenna deadpanned. "In fact, the book was contained within the letter. Impossibly. But I saw it with my own eyes and received it with my own hands."

Olenna picked up the book and slid it toward the children, Margaery in particular. Her grandchildren tensed at the sight, expecting her old wrist to strain at the weight of it. Yet as before, the hefty tome was as light as a feather. Willas' bewilderment spread to the rest of them as Mace began to read.

"'To whom it may concern'… Bah!" Mace cut himself off almost immediately. "The gall! A Lord Paramount! It concerns a Lord Paramount!"

'Yes, and that's exactly why I intend to use such an introduction in the future,' Olenna grinned to herself. 'What a wonderfully novel turn of phrase.'

Regardless of the 'offense' taken by the opening line, Mace continued reading aloud, "'Greetings, Westeros.' Westeros? Was this letter sent to the whole realm? Is the writer a fool?! Such an undertaking is ridiculous!"

"You're the fool! Now, stop interrupting yourself and read!" Olenna snapped strictly. "Most likely, the letter was only sent throughout the North and to the Great Houses in the South."

"Still expense but much more reasonable," Sweet Margaery nodded.

Grumbling as he always did, Mace continued. He miraculously managed to hold his tongue other than reading aloud. Even as his eyes grew wide, his jaw fell slightly slack, and the absurd disbelief in the room increased.

"'I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A title and school I'm sure you're unfamiliar with. That much is understandable, considering it didn't exist according to Westeros until a little over a moon's turn ago. Yet, I've known Hogwarts to stand and share knowledge for well over a thousand years. Strange, isn't it? A most curious situation…'"

"'The explanation for it lies in magic. I understand this land to be skeptical of such. But I assure you all, magic is very, very real. Hopefully, the book provided with this letter will be proof enough of that. But frankly, whether you believe it or not, I simply do not care.'"

Mace coughed when he got to that last line, sputtering at the indignity to Olenna's endless amusement. The Dumbledore fellow was already growing on her.

"'I'm far too old to care about your 'feelings' on the matter. All that matters is your actions, and how you respond. There, I shall give everyone a single warning. Hogwarts is all I have left of my homeland, its students are the last of my people… I will bring ruin to all who try to do the same to us. Your 'Doom of Valyria'? It will be a mere drizzle compared to a true Wizard's storm.'"

"'But I digress!'" Olenna could practically see this Dumbledore perking up as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't promised doom in retribution to any who threatened his school and charges.

"'Hogwarts is a wonderful, magical place,'" Another clever twist of words given the context, Olenna now realized. "'Information on how it came to be, its history, and what led up to the current situation will be in the attached book. Said book should also give a rather decent peek into our culture as Witches and Wizards.'"

"'Now, to show you that Hogwarts is not all 'doom and magical gloom', I shall leave this letter off with an open offer. Magic is truly a blessing from the gods — whichever you may believe in, I've always been partial to Magic herself… — and I am eager to show Westeros as much.'"

"'As such, I encourage all who are ill, injured, maimed, or crippled to contact Hogwarts. An arrangement for healing shall be reached, I assure you, and we won't even rob you blind! So long as you treat us in good faith, of course… Regardless, I look forward to any and all replies. I always do love to socialize…'"

"Socialize, ha!" Olenna barked a laugh as Dumbledore's letter and announcement came to a close. "Properly peculiar man, that one."

"Peculiar?! You understate, Mother!" Mace blustered. "Magic! It, It's preposterous! Ridiculous! Heretical! Why, I should burn this letter out of hand before the Faith finds out we hold it!"

"I'd bet a septa's maidenhead they already know, Mace. That they're running around like chickens with their heads cut off at this very moment," Olenna shot back crudely.

"M-Mother?!" Mace gaped at her.

"Oh, do shut up, boy. You trust Lord Stark, don't you? His famous honor, at least?" Olenna asked. "So sit down and read his portion of the letter to yourself if you need a bit more proof of magic."

"B-But, Mother! Surely, Surely, you can't believe this?!"

"I saw it with my own eyes. Are you calling me daft?"

"N-No, never-! But-…"

"Is this proof enough, Husband Dear?" Alerie spoke up, her quiet, innocent voice and sweet words the perfect thing to cut through Mace's bluster.

Olenna's gooddaughter showed Mace the first page of the book that'd come with the letter. There, the seal of Hogwarts moved as if alive. The lion prowled and roared soundlessly. The serpent slithered. The badger hissed — Olenna was quite partial to that one for some reason, something about being underestimated at every turn while hiding a fierce bite… And the raven imperiously flapped its wings.

Mace's jaw fell open, "I-I-… By the Father…"

"Satisfied, Mace?" Olenna raised an eyebrow at her foolish son.

"A-A trick of the eye! Nothing more!"

"That we're all seeing, Father?" Willas pressed shrewdly. "The painting moves. Of that, there is no doubt. When the ink on parchment comes alive, what can that be other than magic?"

"Well said, Willas," Olenna nodded. "Now, Oaf-in-Denial, sit and read Lord Stark's words. He enlightens us to the situation further."

Looking lost, Mace slumped back into his chair. Shaky hands re-raised the letter and he began to read again. Thankfully, to himself. Olenna had heard her foolishly loved son's voice enough for the moment.

Olenna took the chance to describe Lord Stark's words to the rest of the family, "The Quiet Wolf backs every claim from this 'Headmaster Dumbledore'. He's also quite shrewd to say that Hogwarts is already tied to the North. A 'city-state', he called it. Given autonomy and allowed to exist within his lands but with certain obligations to the common good of the North.

"Additionally, he's raised the Houses of Hogwarts to nobility in the North. Knowing his relationship with the King, proper elevation will soon follow if it hasn't already. It seems, children, that Westeros has seen a second 'Andal Invasion', with 400 or so new noble Houses to suddenly contend with. Furthermore, he warns that Headmaster Dumbledore's threat is not a threat. It's a promise…"

"And what of the offer, Grandmother?" Willas asked, his eyes sharp.

Olenna's lips pulled into a smirk, "Lord Stark claims it to be genuine. From another, I would call it a mummer's farce. From the Lords Stark and Manderly? When they say they've seen Hogwarts heal maimed and crippled Smallfolk, I listen, I consider, and I make plans."

Willas suddenly deflated, sitting back heavily in his seat, "O-Oh…"

"Grandmother, surely you can't mean to take up the offer…?" Garlan inquired hesitantly.

"Mace is right in one aspect," Alerie agreed. "Even considering to treat with this magic is heretical."

"So are a lot of things," Olenna shot back. "Even a certain proclivity close to this family. Do you not want your firstborn to walk unassisted again, girl?"

Alerie's expression soured but she couldn't do anything but concede the point raised. The only one who didn't know of Loras' proclivities was the ignorant Mace. To the Faith, such pursuits were a sin. For her love of her children, Alerie at least had to acknowledge that hypocrisy.

"To walk and ride again, I'll pay the price — whatever it may be — myself," Willas said reverently.

"Don't go that far, boy," Olenna scowled. "You're of House Tyrell, and the Heir, at that. I'll personally do my best job to see you don't bankrupt yourself."

"If this goes through, Hogwarts will have a friend for life in me, Grandmother," Willas warned. "I won't act against the noble Houses — 'heretical' Wizards or not — who healed me."

"I'm counting on as much," Olenna grinned proudly. "What better way for House Tyrell to start relations with this newest player than with us 'in their debt'?"

Willas nodded slowly in consideration, "They'll know that I'll hold them in high regard. And we'll know that they know that…"

"And if my suspicions of this Dumbledore are correct, they'll know that we know that they know that. But then, I'll suspect that and the games can truly begin…"

Mace bowed his head in his hands, "Argh-…! Please, Mother, I've had head trauma that was kinder than that logic!"

"Still, Brother Mine…" Garlan was still hesitant. "Do we truly wish to be seen consorting with magic?"

"There's no other choice in my mind," Willas said firmly. "I want to run again. I want to ride my horses at a gallop. I want to join you for spars in the yard, Garlan. Would you deprive me of this? Would the Seven?"

"I would not, Brother," Garlan sighed. "And though the Faith itself might preach against it, I don't think the Seven themselves would either."

Nodding in satisfaction, Olenna turned her attention to the youngest in the room, who'd been almost suspiciously silent for the discussion, "Margaery. Margaery! Girl, what holds your attention so?!"

Margaery had gotten hold of the book at some point, likely right after it was used as proof of magic. Now, she flipped through it intently, practically blind to the rest of the world. Her eyes were wide as the full moon, her cheeks flushed as the Maiden herself, and most strange of all, a bit of drool was pooling at the corner of her lips. She flipped page after page, not even hearing Olenna's call. She fidgeted in her seat, looking to rub her thighs together. Olenna wasn't blind. She could see the signs of arousal in her granddaughter. But she couldn't fathom how a history book had brought them out of the normally composed girl.

Garlan peeked over at the page Margaery was reading before sucking in a sharp breath and looking away as quickly as he could, "Maiden's supple fucking teats…!"

Olenna stared at him, honestly impressed that anything could make the diligent boy swear, "What in the Seven Hells was that for?"

Willas peeked over at his younger sister's reading material as well, his brows immediately rising high on his face, "… Grandmother, how much of this book did you read?"

"Only the first few pages. They detailed the founding of Hogwarts and its Houses. Informative enough, I suppose," Olenna replied.

"Informative is one way to put it," Willas chuckled. "I certainly never knew a Lady could bend that way… Or have such a… bountiful figure… And by the gods, that member would be more fit for the Warrior's weapon than a man's loins!"

Alerie gasped, scandalized, "Willas?! Margaery! Take it away from her, take it away!"

That finally seemed to get Margaery's attention and she desperately exclaimed, "No! You mustn't!"

After a short, flustered moment, she collected herself, clearing her throat with cheeks of a glowing blush, "A-Ahem… Willas s-surely exaggerates. The book is merely a necessary peek into a foreign culture. Should we-… I-I not learn as much as I can? If we are to enter talks with these Wizards, should I not understand where they are coming from? The four-way marriage between their founders, for example! And all of its little, uh… intricacies…"

Alerie glowered at her daughter, not fooled one bit, "Margaery-…"

"Excellent initiative, sweetling!" Mace foolishly laughed, not a single clue in his dense head. "I'm proud of you for wishing to learn about new culture, foreign and heretical though it may be!"

Margaery winced at her father's approval. Considering what Olenna heavily suspected was in the second half of that book, it was an understandable gesture. And one that made Olenna cackle internally. Leave it to her obtuse oaf of a son to endorse his daughter's reading of smut.

"Well then, your mother and I will simply have to await your comprehensive report, Margaery. I think it'll be best if you keep the book in your quarters for the time being," Olenna shot her granddaughter a sly wink. "We wouldn't want any distractions from your 'research', now, would we?"

Margaery nodded almost frantically, her cheeks somehow finding a way to glow even brighter. Still, she hurried to her feet, clutching the book to her chest, and made an excuse to leave before her mother could protest any further. Mace had a blissfully ignorant and proud look on his face as she left but Alerie glared at her goodmother. Olenna just smirked back at her. To the side, Willas laughed hysterically to himself and Garlan tried his best to put what he'd seen and its implications from his mind.

"Oh, buck up, girl," Olenna told her gooddaughter. "You'll get your chance at the book soon enough."

"Aaaaand that is where I take my leave," Garlan said, standing stiffly and abruptly as his mother erupted into a blush to rival the recently departed Margaery.

"T-That-! H-How-?! Why, I never!"